


Kinda I Want To

by Desade, Eviscera



Series: Ouchy-Verse [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Shenanigans, Finally, Fingerfucking, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, The Realization of 1000 Year of Want
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 18:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desade/pseuds/Desade, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eviscera/pseuds/Eviscera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weeks have passed, and the god and his archer have grown steadily closer.  Loki has kept his promise to not allow his feelings to come between their friendship...but Clint has been haunted by some feelings of his own.  Is this something he can accept, or even admit to himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Clint. It's time you stopped lying to yourself, puppy.

It had been several weeks since Clint’s suspicions about the depth of Loki’s interest had been confirmed, and in that time they had spent an increasing amount of time together.  Loki held his promise to call before stopping by, and Clint never failed to needle the god over his ‘crush’, perversely enjoying the blush that still colored Loki’s cheeks at the slightest mention.  And while Loki had noticed the contemplative looks the archer sometimes sent his way, there had been no move on Clint’s part to reciprocate or admit to an attraction of his own.  And Loki was fine with that, pleased that the assassin still allowed him a place in his life after such an admission; satisfied with what could now be called a friendship.

It was deep in the night as Loki sat curled on his sofa, leafing through a book on Midgardian history when the phone rang.  He gave it a momentary look of confusion before setting aside the book and rising to answer.  Clint was the only person who ever called, and it was far too late for it to be the archer.

Lifting the receiver, he heard a burst of loud music overlaid with a babble of voices.  ”Hello,” he ventured hesitantly.

“Is there a… _Loki_  there,” a strange voice asked.

“Speaking.”

“Yeah, okay,” the voice went on, an edge of exasperation shining through.  ”I work down at Goldie’s bar, on 32nd?  And I’ve got this guy here who’s drunk off his ass, and he needs someone to come collect him.  I asked if he had a friend I could call, and he gave me your name and number.”

“I see,” Loki replied slowly.  ”And who is this that needs ‘ _collected_ ’?”

“Didn’t get his name.  He’s sort of solid.  Short brown hair.  And keeps babbling on about arrows.”

“Oh,” Loki breathed.  ”I’ll be right there.”

-x-x-x-

He’d thought he was doing okay.  At first, it was just little things.  A twinge here, a stray thought there.  The more time they spent together, the more he found his thoughts drifting, and the harder it was to tell himself it was just a passing thing. 

He soon realized it was pointless, Loki was under his skin like a tick, and there was no easy way of getting him out.  The fragile bond they’d managed to form was still too new, too fresh for him to want to sever it by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Everything might have been salvageable if it hadn’t been for the dreams.  Clint’s subconscious was determined to dig up everything he’d ever wanted to stay buried.  It was hard enough for him to get past Loki actually being a decent person, let alone… this. 

Clint dragged his hand through his hair with a groan and drained the last of his drink.  He’d lost track of them some time ago, but he couldn’t feel his scalp anymore, so he was fairly certain he was well and truly drunk at this point.  Not that it was doing much good, his thoughts were still a confused mess, and they weren’t getting any less messy with the addition of alcohol.  

“Knew I should have put an arrow in his eye socket,” Clint muttered, his head sinking slowly to the bar with each word until his chin was resting on his empty glass.

“You ready to call it a night, buddy?” an unamused voice asked from somewhere above.

Clint rolled his eyes upwards to see the glowering face of the bartender.  All three of them.

“You don’t have any arrows, do you?” Clint asked, closing one eye in the hopes of at least focusing on one of the faces.  “I left all mine at home.”

“That’s it, I’m cutting you off,” came the surly reply.

“You can’t, I need those arrows, damn it,” Clint growled.  He attempted to get off his stool but only made it as far as sliding his ass off the cushion before sliding quite gracefully to the floor.

“You got a ride home?” the voice asked from somewhere far above.

Clint rolled his head on his shoulder in the semblance of a negative as he splayed his legs out before him to get comfortable.  “Walked here.  Don’t think my walk works anymore, though.”

“Someone you can call?  You can’t spend the night on the floor, you know.”

With a groan, Clint squeezed his eyes shut and ground the back of his head against the bar behind him.  “Yes.”

-x-x-x-

Loki opened the door to Goldie’s and winced as he was assailed with a cacophony of music and revelry.  He skirted two men that were drunkenly arguing and scanned the crowd before approaching the bar.

“Excuse me,” he called to the man behind the counter.  ”I was summoned to come collect my friend?  Where might I find him?”

The bartender jerked his head toward the end of the bar.  ”Last time I saw him he was over there.  I doubt he managed to get very far from his spot on the floor.”

Loki scowled at the flippant tone, and swept around the bar, sidestepping several patrons that gaped at the tall, elegant man, looking so out of place in the dingy environment.  

Halfway down the aisle, he caught sight of Clint slumped back against the bar, his legs splayed out before him and eyes closed to the madness around him.  Loki stepped close to the archer’s side and leaned down over him, calling softly, “Clint?  Are you alright?”

Clint’s eyes cracked open at the familiar voice, and his gaze slid up to meet Loki’s concerned expression.  He stared for a long moment, forehead furrowed and brows arched in an oddly vulnerable manner before mumbling, “Loki.  You came.”

Crouching down next to Clint, Loki chided, “Of course I did.  You obviously needed me.”

Bristling slightly, Clint attempted to push himself upright only to tip further to one side.  His hands swept around the floor and finding a discarded straw, he pitched it at the god.  ”I…don’t  _need_  anybody,” he snapped.  ”Just - had a little too much to drink is all.”

“That is apparent, given your current position,” Loki chuckled, picking the straw from his hair before extending his hand to Clint.  ”Come.  Let’s get you home.”

Clint eyed Loki’s hand warily before clasping the god’s wrist and allowing Loki to haul him to his feet.  ”Home…sounds good,” the archer conceded   

Clint had forgotten how strong Loki was as he was pulled to his feet as if he weighed nothing.  He heard the god brush off offers of help as they made their way through the bar towards the door, his low, mellow and slightly affronted voice rumbling in Clint’s ears like a purr.  His eyes were closed against the sudden vertigo of being upright and mobile, and the only thing keeping him grounded was the feel of Loki’s arm around his waist and the grip he had on the arm slung around his neck. 

The sudden gust of fresh air as they stepped outside hit Clint like a slap to the face, and he managed to crack one eye open long enough to glimpse the sidewalk beneath them before everything started spinning.

“Hold still, I’m gonna fall off,” he warned, his free hand gripping the forearm wrapped around his middle.

A warm chuckle met his ears at that.  “I’ll not let you fall, Barton,” Loki assured him, though he stayed put as asked.

Clint gave a non-committal grunt as he got his feet under him once more.  “Like it better when you call me Clint,” he murmured, his head nodding against Loki’s shoulder.  

“Do you, now?” Loki asked pensively. 

Clint answered with a hum of agreement, burying his face against the shoulder of his jacket.  It hurt his nose and made it hard to breathe, but Clint had just discovered that he liked the way Loki smelled and crushing his nose was an acceptable price.

“How much of that foul drink have you poured down your gullet, Barton?” Loki asked, his voice rather terse, and took a tentative step in the direction of Clint’s apartment.

Clint frowned at the god’s refusal to call him by his name and in retaliation for such an affront, he twisted his face away from his shoulder and almost tripped them both when his legs buckled.

“Dunno. Lots,” he said.  “More than I planned.  Guess I’m bad at this.”

“At what?”

Clint didn’t answer with words, merely turned his face up and peered at Loki through one bleary eye before letting his head drop once more to his shoulder.

Loki was no stranger to drunkenness, or how alcohol of any type seemed to lessen inhibitions.  But Clint’s admission to liking the sound of his name on Loki’s tongue still caught the god off-guard.  And when the archer followed it up by burrowing his face into Loki’s shoulder, well, that was _definitely_  unexpected.  While they had reached an easy rapport, Clint had remained physically distant.  The only contact between the two being an occasional good-natured slap to the back, or the accidental brushing of fingertips when reaching for the same item.

Now Loki found himself standing on an unfamiliar stretch of sidewalk, arms around the assassin as his warm weight pressed into the god’s side.  And Loki’s heart was beating out a frantic tattoo, like a bird trapped beneath his rib-cage, desperate to escape.  He held very still as Clint pressed his face harder against his shoulder and inhaled deeply, breathing in Loki’s scent.  A sense of dread slowly grew within him as he realized how intoxicated Barton actually was, and Loki would not be one to take advantage of that.

“How much of that foul drink have you poured down your gullet, Barton?” he asked, hoping to distract Clint from his sudden tactile interest in him.  The archer rewarded his question by nearly pulling the both of them to the concrete as he twisted away.  Loki mourned the loss of the intimate contact, and for denying Clint the sound of his given name, but he was at a loss as to how to handle the change in behavior Clint was exhibiting.

A few more words were exchanged before Clint stared up at Loki, a shimmer of longing visible through the drunken haze.  Loki felt his breath catch in his throat at the raw look; the walls the archer usually held so firmly in place laid low by the alcohol.  And as Clint’s head rested once more upon Loki’s shoulder, the god murmured haltingly, “We really must get you home and into bed.  I fear you are…not yourself.”

The walk back to the apartment was a blur; Clint could recall very little of how they managed to find their way back.  He couldn’t have been much help, considering he’d been nodding in and out of a drunken stupor for most of it.  Regardless, Loki had managed to lug him up the stairs and through his front door with little trouble, despite the fact that he was mostly dead weight at that point. 

The feeling of a soft, giving surface beneath him was what roused Clint from his doze, and he blinked around to see himself laid out on his back on his bed, the lights turned low to spare his sore eyes.  He heard movement at the foot of the bed and felt his leg being lifted, his boot tugged off and tossed to the floor.  Then the same with his other foot.  He was more confused than alarmed that he was being undressed, until Loki rose from his crouch and tugged him upright to help remove his jacket.

“Thought I dreamed you,” Clint muttered, letting his forehead fall against Loki’s shoulder.

“No, Barton, I am very much here,” Loki replied, his voice clipped and terse as he pushed him back, tugging the jacket harshly down his arms and setting it on the edge of the bed.

“Good.”  There was a pause, then, “Call me Clint?”

Loki’s movements halted abruptly, and Clint looked up to see his face as he stared back at him with narrowed eyes.

“Go to sleep, Barton,” he said, his voice cold and distant.

Clint swallowed the sudden lump that formed in his throat.  “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?  Everyone gets mad at me.  Don’t be mad.”

Loki’s poison green eyes held Clint’s pleading gaze for a long moment before he forced himself to look away.  The archer’s words, delivered in such a miserable, throaty tone cut deep into Loki’s heart, and he wanted nothing more than to reassure Clint that he was mistaken.  That no, he was  _not_  angry with him in the slightest.  But should the god admit that, then he would also have to explain that his tense attitude came from the fear that he may do or say something that could be taken the wrong way.  That Clint’s inebriation made for a very dangerous path, one that Loki was wary of navigating.

“You  _are_  mad,” Clint murmured quietly.  ”I don’t know what I did…but I’m sorry.”  

Loki’s head snapped up, and Clint caught his gaze.  Spearing him with a hopeful look, Clint said earnestly, “I’m really sorry.  Please?  Don’t be mad anymore.”

It was the ‘please’ that broke Loki’s resolve.  And before he quite knew what was happening, he found himself on his knees at the bedside, putting him at eye level with the archer.  

“No,” Loki soothed.  ”I am not upset with you.  Not in the slightest.  Simply…concerned for your well-being.  You needn’t worry that you’ve angered me, as that is not the case, Clint.”

Things were happening too fast, his emotions swinging too wildly for him to get a lock on them.  All he could really focus on was that Loki wasn’t actually mad at him, and that he finally called him by his name.  Both of those things filled him with so much relief that he nudged his forehead against Loki’s shoulder, a pleased hum rumbling from his throat.

“Don’t want you mad at me, too,” he said, grinding his forehead into the solid weight as his arms came up to wrap around Loki’s chest.  He pulled the other body against him tightly, ignoring the stiffening of the spine beneath his hands in favor of the feeling of a warm, living touch after so long.  It didn’t matter that Loki wouldn’t touch him back, he didn’t have to, just this was enough.  This was… nice.

As Clint’s arms wrapped around Loki’s slender frame and pulled him close, the god’s heart lifted in joy.  Yet, at the same moment, that sly and simpering voice in Loki’s head intoned,  _‘The archer knows not what he does.  Blinded by drink, he is simply reaching out for anyone.  He does not want YOU.  Just…ANYONE.’_

Loki tensed at the thought that perhaps this was something that Clint would regret come morning.  That it may drive a wedge between them.  And yet, his slender hands still rose and stroked gently down the muscled curve of Clint’s back.  It had been so very long since anyone had touched him in kindness, and Loki wished to commit this moment to memory, damn the repercussions.  

“Never fear,” he murmured softly into Clint’s ear.  ”All is well.”

Clint knew he shouldn’t be doing this.  He was drunk, but not so drunk that he was unaware of the dangerous tightrope he was walking.  He knew how careful Loki was to keep his attraction for him from coloring their friendship, and he’d been doing a pretty good job up until Clint started getting all touchy-feely. 

That was the funny thing about alcohol; it turned even the best-laid plans on their ears. 

He couldn’t say he regretted it, though.  Even as the distant, sober part of him railed against his actions, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.  With the drunken haze to keep him from over-thinking, he allowed himself to admit that he wanted more from Loki than what they had managed so far.  He wanted to be able to have this without having to excuse it away as a drunken fumbling.

For Clint, this was about so much more than just another warm body to get close to.  He’d done plenty of that, and he knew this was worlds away.  He didn’t know why, or how, or even when, but at some point, for some reason, Loki had become someone important to him, perhaps even vital.

All his drunken state would allow him, however, was to translate all of this newly-acknowledged emotion into its most base form. 

Clint turned his head and licked a long path from the base of Loki’s throat to his ear.

The sudden wet heat of Clint’s tongue sliding over the flesh of Loki’s throat shocked the god into inactivity.  He froze, hands splayed low on Clint’s back as the archer scraped his teeth over Loki’s now thundering pulse.  Biting down on that sensitive spot where neck met shoulder teased a low, needy moan from Loki that went straight to Clint’s gut, unfurling a banner of heat and causing his arms to tighten further around the god.

Leaning into Clint’s embrace, lost in the blaze of sensations, all logical thought stopped.  In its place, Loki now found a primal loop of ‘need’, ‘yes’, ‘now’ and ‘mine’ goading him forward.  It wasn’t until the archer’s mouth left his throat and sought Loki’s own that the god caught the acrid scent of alcohol, and logic crashed back down upon him.

“Clint…wait,” Loki panted, inwardly cursing himself six types of a fool for what he was about to say.  ”Stop.”

“Why,” Clint murmured, one hand coming up to twine lazily in Loki’s hair.

“Because,” Loki sighed.  ”You are quite drunk, and I’d not have you make a decision you would regret come morning.”

“Won’t,” Clint said, tightening his hold on Loki’s hair.  “Know I’m drunk, doesn’t matter.  Just want you.  Have for a long time, just never said.”

Loki’s hands left Clint’s back and pushed against his chest, gently at first, then with more force when Clint refused to budge.

“Please, Clint, don’t make this any harder for me,” he pleaded, his eyes imploring as he held the archer’s gaze.

Clint let Loki push him back a few scant inches before he tugged him forward, burying his face against his throat.  He breathed in Loki’s scent even as he felt the fingers trembling against his chest.

“Made lots of bad decisions when I was drunk,” he muttered, his breath warm against Loki’s throat.  “Survived every one of ‘em.  Won’t kill either of us.”

Loki sighed into Clint’s hair and allowed himself the small concession of rubbing his cheek against the side of his head, like an affectionate cat.  “I know this, Clint.  But it is not your mere survival I am concerned about.  I do not wish you to suffer at all.”

“Too late for that,” Clint said, his voice muffled as he pressed his mouth to the skin below Loki’s ear.  His voice was a low rumble.  “Don’t do me any favors.”

Loki tilted his head slightly, allowing for better access to his throat, his breath hitching as the archer’s teeth pressed into flesh.  The slightest touch seemed to send shockwaves through the god’s body, and as Clint’s hands began to wander, Loki was finding it harder to remember  _why_  he had asked him to stop in the first place.

But then that cursed inner voice spoke up again, detailing all the ways in which this was a very bad idea.  And how if Clint had  _truly_  wanted him, he would not have waited until he was blind drunk to have mentioned such a thing.  

“Clint.   _Please_ ,” Loki implored, his hands once more pushing against the archer’s chest.  ”Just…hear me out.”

“You don’t want me anymore,” Clint murmured, the apprehension plain in his voice.

“You know very well that I do.”

“Well, I’m right here.  Offering you everything I got.  Why won’t you just take it?  Take  _me_?”

Loki huffed out an exasperated breath before replying.  ”It is important to me that I know this is truly what you want.  That  _I_  am what you want.  And that you are making this decision because you want me, not because of the alcohol, or the isolation you have suffered.”  The god gave Clint a long, searching look before continuing.  ”If what you are saying is true; if you have wanted me for a while now, then I just ask that you give me one more night.  Just one night.  When you are sober tomorrow, you may not feel the same as you do now.  Can you do this for me?  Please?”

Clint was having a hard time understanding Loki’s reluctance.  He knew the god wanted him; could feel it in the trembling of his muscles under his hands, see the longing in his eyes, hear the tremors in his breath.  Even as he pleaded with him to stop, he arched into his touch, as if his mind and body could no longer agree on what they wanted.

Well, Clint knew what  _he_  wanted, and it was right there, barely a breath away.  He didn’t care what Loki said, the alcohol had nothing to do with what he felt, it was merely the instrument that brought down the walls he’d put up.  Nothing had changed but that now Loki knew that his attraction was no longer one-sided.

Even now, as Loki waited for Clint’s answer, he could feel the pull, the urge to draw him closer until there was no space left between them.  He knew now that he’d been feeling it long before, never knowing what it was that draw him to the dark god, but still unable to break completely free.  He’d taken what he could get, telling himself their friendship was enough.

He knew different, he could admit now that he’d always known different.  Clint saw no reason why they should still be fighting this.

Except… Loki had asked it of him.

Clint swallowed the bitter lump in his throat and held that emerald gaze with his own.  He knew Loki could see every bit of him he’d been keeping hidden, but he couldn’t bring himself to raise the walls back up now they’d been cracked through.

“If it’s really what you want,” he finally said, his voice low and quiet, subdued.  “If that’s what it will take for you to believe me.  I can wait.”

Loki brought his hands up from Clint’s chest and cupped the archer’s face.  ”Thank you,” he murmured.  ”I know this is  _not_  what you want, and I am so sorry for denying you.  But I would have you fully aware; fully in control so that there is no question in either of our minds as to the path we are choosing.”

Leaning his forehead against Clint’s, Loki continued.  ”I am no blushing maiden, nor do I require being courted like one.  But I  _do_  need reassurance that your desire goes beyond a momentary urge.  Forgive me my hesitance, Clint.  It is not a sign of distrust, but simply a fear of destroying all we have built between us.”

Clint remained silent, his heated gaze swallowed up by Loki’s wide and pleading stare.  And in that moment, the god felt such an overwhelming urge to renege upon everything he had just said, and claim that mouth which was so close to his own.  

But no.  

To do so would forever cement that small sliver of doubt in Loki’s mind.  And he had survived an age in Hel, dreaming of this moment.  What was one more day?

So that’s what this was about?  He thought this was a drunken ‘urge’?  A fleeting thought because he was drunk and horny and Loki just so happened to be the closest warm body?

Clint looked away from those searching eyes, the sudden wave of hurt swelling up in his chest until he thought he would choke on it.  How could he think that?  What had he said or done to make him think he was so disposable?  He’d never wanted  _anyone_  this much,  _ever_.  Certainly not so much as to wait for the morning, simply because they’d asked him to, not when what he wanted was right there in his arms and wanting him just as much.

What difference were a few more hours going to make?  Clint would never stop wanting Loki.  He knew that just as surely as he knew he would hit his target as soon as he’d loosed an arrow.

He pulled back, releasing Loki from his embrace, and kept his eyes downcast, jaw clenched against the words he knew he shouldn’t voice.  He didn’t blame Loki for being cautious, there was too much at stake, for the both of them, to fall headfirst into something like this without being absolutely sure. 

It didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell.

Loki immediately knew that he had wounded Clint with his words.  The way the archer pulled away and refused to meet his eyes drove home that fact.  Loki’s heart sank in his chest, and he rocked back onto his heels before he ducked his head to try and capture Clint’s gaze.  

“I’ve said the wrong thing, haven’t I,” Loki asked softly.

Clint stubbornly kept his eyes trained on the floor, maintaining his silence.

Reaching out slowly, Loki plucked the archer’s hand from his side, rubbing his thumb over the back of Clint’s wrist.  ”Look at me,” Loki implored.  ”Please, Clint.”

The archer’s gaze slid up, taking in the desperation in Loki’s face.  He felt that familiar burning in his throat as he recognized the pain in the god’s eyes.  

“You must understand something about me, Clint,” Loki beseeched.  ”I do not feel I fully deserve happiness, nor do I think myself worthy of one such as you.  I have a…darkness in me.”  Pausing momentarily, Loki lifted Clint’s hand to his mouth, pressing a quick kiss to the back.  ”That is why I need your reassurance.  That is why I have asked you to wait.  It is not due to anything you have done.  It is simply my own broken nature that demands such a thing.”

Clint’s brows drew together as he considered Loki’s words, and his fingers tightened around the god’s.

“Never did I dare hope that you would return the slightest measure of my feelings,” Loki breathed.  ”And my desire for you is like nothing I have ever experienced.  But I must be  _certain,_ Clint _._ I am sorry if I have wounded you in the process…”

“Doesn’t matter,” Clint said, looking at where their hands were entwined. 

“It  _does_  matter,” Loki argued.  “Every wound I inflict upon you is a wound to myself.”

“Doesn’t  _matter_ ,” Clint said again, “because no matter how many times you wound me, I’m not going anywhere.  I just want  _you_ , Loki.  If I have to wait until tomorrow or the next day or next week or however long you need, I’ll still want you.  So shut up about wounds, I’m used to ‘em.”

Loki was silent, then, and Clint was happy to let the silence reign for a few moments.  His head was beginning to ache, he could feel the first telltale signs of a monumental hangover in the way his head seemed to grow exponentially heavier as the minutes ticked by. 

Hell, it was probably a good thing Loki stopped him when he did.  He’d be useless in the sack right now, anyway.  Not really the first impression he wanted to make.

“Clint?” Loki’s voice was almost a whisper.  “I think you should lie down, you need rest.”

He didn’t know he’d closed his eyes until they cracked open to see the concern written all over Loki’s face. 

“Yeah, okay,” he relented, allowing the hands at his shoulders to guide him down to the mattress.

It was when he felt the warmth of those hands leave him that he suddenly panicked, feeling as though his tether to everything that had happened that night had been cut and he was about to float away.  He didn’t want to lose this, this new-found sense of closeness.  His hand came up, groping blindly for something to grab onto, to anchor him to the moment.

His fingers closed on a shirtsleeve, and he all but wrenched the god down on top of him, certainly keeping him from retreating any further.

“Clint-?” Loki’s confused voice called out.

“Don’t go,” he said pleadingly.  “Just… stay here with me.  Please?  Don’t leave me alone.”

Loki was caught entirely off-guard when Clint tugged him down to the bed, landing half atop the archer.  The shock of contact stole Loki’s breath for a moment, and he was painfully aware of every inch of Clint’s body against his own.  The warmth emanating from the man beneath him seeped into Loki’s skin, and brought a slight smile to the god’s face.

“Are you certain,” he asked.

“Yes,” Clint murmured, already struggling against sleep.  ”Want you here.  Next to me.”

Loki slid off to the archer’s right and curled up on his side, resting his hand on Clint’s chest to feel the thunder of the mortal’s heartbeat under his palm.  ”As you wish,” Loki soothed.  ”I will stay with you through the night.”

Clint hummed his approval, words suddenly far beyond his means.  Lacing his fingers through Loki’s, he turned to his left side and fitted himself against the god, the hard press of Loki’s chest against his back.

Loki pulled Clint tighter against him and nuzzled into the archer’s hair.  ”Sleep now,” he breathed.  ”And I will be here when you awaken.”

“…’kay,” Clint mumbled, giving in to the blackness as Loki’s arms tightened around him.

-x-x-x-

Clint’s first thought upon waking was “ _Ow…”_ , followed closely by “ _Fuck… ow._ “  The light coming in through the windows was bright, even through his eyelids, and he burrowed his face into his pillow to spare his aching head the extra pain.  It was a wasted effort, however, since he was awake now and quite aware of all the other aches and pains that came with too much alcohol and not enough care about what he put his body through.

As Clint slowly began to regain consciousness, he noticed an odd habit his bed seemed to have recently acquired; he didn’t remember it breathing quite this much.  He should probably find out why it was doing that, but the pillow was his new best friend and he didn’t want to lift his face from it quite yet.

Okay, so he was sore as hell with the mother of all headaches turning his brain into putty, but he was at least in his own bed.  Trying to figure out how that happened was going to be fun.

The sudden feeling of an arm tightening around his chest snapped Clint right out of his sleepy pondering faster than a bucket of ice water, and he had to lock all of his muscles down before the urge to fling himself from the bed could take hold.

His thoughts now became a litany of “ _FUCK! OW! NOT ALONE! FUCK!_   _WHAT DID I GO AND DO NOW? FUUUUUCK!_ ”

The pillow was being a jerk and not letting him breathe, now, and Clint had no choice but to pull his face from the comforting darkness, and while he was doing that he might as well see who he’d managed to haul back from wherever he’d wound up last night.

Even as he turned his head, he felt a sick twisting in his gut that had nothing to do with how much he drank the night before.  Clint hadn’t so much as looked at anyone else since Loki had made himself a permanent fixture, and the thought that he’d crushed all of that in one night was almost enough to make him throw up.  He didn’t  _want_  anyone else, damn it.  What the hell was he think-

Oh.

Seeing Loki’s sleeping face so close, Clint could almost believe he was still asleep and dreaming, if not for the fact that his eyes felt like two enormous bass drums beating out the rhythm of his pulse.  He felt too much like shit for this to be a dream.

Which meant that Loki was actually there.

In his bed.

He’d slept with Loki. And that was  _all_  they’d done, obviously.  They were both still clothed, on top of the covers, and Clint was becoming uncomfortably aware that he was still in his jeans, because he desperately had to piss and it was… well, there wasn’t much room.

As much as he’d like to lay there and bask in the fact that he was closer to Loki than he’d ever allowed himself to be, the situation was quickly becoming critical.

It was as Clint was trying to untangle himself from Loki’s embrace that the god’s eyes fluttered open, blinking the haze of sleep away to see his Hawk attempting to make his escape.  His arm tightened on reflex, and Clint’s eyes snapped up to meet the sleepy green gaze.

“Uh, mornin’,” Clint murmured, going as still as his urgency would let him.

“Good morning,” Loki replied hesitantly.  He watched Clint warily, making no move to release him.

Well, shit, there was no polite way of saying this, so he was just going to say it.  “I gotta pee.”

It was movement that brought Loki slowly back to consciousness.  And as his eyes opened to the bright morning light, he was met with the sight of Clint trying to shimmy out from beneath the arm wrapped around his chest.  

When the archer’s gaze rose and met his own, Loki caught a vague sheen of panic in those large eyes and his heart dropped into his stomach.  It was as he’d feared.  In the unforgiving face of a new day, and with his mind cleared of alcohol, Clint no longer wanted him.

“I have to pee,” Clint suddenly blurted out, and Loki quickly released him from his embrace.  

“Go,” he mumbled, eyes downcast as he hitched himself up to lean against the headboard.  ”Attend to your needs.”

Clint gave the god a curious look before rolling out of bed and padding quickly toward the bathroom.

Loki lifted his gaze and watched him go, a wet gleam to his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

Clint was cursing his bladder soundly in the other room.  He’d had time to brush his teeth and rinse his mouth before he’d finished, the whole time wondering if maybe Loki hadn’t decided to pull one of his pranks and curse him with an eternity of this.

It also gave him time to think, which was something he really needed to do now, because he had the feeling that he’d upset Loki somehow.  His memories of the night before were fragmented and he was sure there were parts he wouldn’t be able to remember clearly no matter how hard he tried, but he remembered the way it ended and it seemed to be on a good note, all things considered.  Loki was still there when he woke up, just as he’d said he would be.

Unless… he didn’t actually  _want_  to be there and he was just humoring the poor drunken idiot who all but yanked him into bed with him. 

 _Smooth, Barton,_  he scolded himself.   _Way to alienate the_ one  _person who can tolerate your dumb ass.  If he hasn’t walked out yet, it’s because he’s too fucking_ polite _to leave without at least telling you to fuck off to your face._

Standing upright was suddenly too much work, and Clint closed the lid of the toilet just in time to catch him as his knees buckled.  He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and blinked unseeing eyes towards the tiles between his bare feet. 

How to fix this?

Well, this whole mess started because he was too much of a fucking coward to admit his own feelings to himself.  The logical solution would be… quit being a fucking coward.

Loki needed to know Clint’s feelings weren’t found floating in the bottom of a bottle.  That was easy enough, all he had to do was tell him the truth now he wasn’t a fucking mess.

Not to say he wasn’t still a mess, because he’d just woken up from going ten rounds with Jack, and he was pretty sure his cousin Jim helped him at some point, and yeah, he was probably still a mess, but at least he wasn’t a  _drunken_ mess.  That had to count for something.

Right.  Clean up first, and then convince the incredibly attractive alien with self-esteem issues in the other room that yes, he really did want to get very naked with him, thoroughly and often.

The cold water on his face helped him wake up a little more and he was sorely tempted to just stick his head under the faucet and drink until he had to piss again, but he had a little more self-control than that and so he settled for drinking out of a cup… about ten times.

When he left the bathroom, Clint was prepared to face anything Loki could throw at him.

Except for the sight of him tucked into himself on the bed, his shoulders shaking with what Clint sincerely hoped were not silent sobs.

His voice was a quite murmur.  “Loki…”

At the sound of his name, Loki turned his face further away and quickly swiped at the tears staining his pale cheeks.  Slightly mortified that he’d not only been reduced to weeping, but that Clint had caught him in such a state, Loki felt his misery swell until it felt as though his chest would burst.  He stole a quick glance at the archer, standing just inside the door leading to the bathroom, and noted the mixed expression on his face.  It closely resembled pity, but there was something more to it as well.  Something Loki couldn’t quite read.

 _‘Of course it’s pity, you fool,’_  the voice in his head whispered in gleeful malice.   _‘How could he not pity you?  Silly little god, hoping for more than you deserve.  Thinking that perhaps your mortal would wake and still want you.  How pathetic you are.’_

The tears threatened to spill again, and Loki felt a brief touch of panic down his spine.  Despite all his best attempts to keep his feelings at bay, he had relented, and very well may have ruined everything.  Just as he always did.

Clint took a step forward, then hesitated, watching as the god seemed to deflate even further.  What was going through his head? 

“Forgive me,” Loki choked out.  ”It seems I am not…myself today, and have more than likely overstayed my welcome.  I should go.”  He made to stand then, but Clint’s voice froze him in his tracks.

“Please, don’t,” he murmured in that same quiet tone.  ”I want you to stay.”

_No no no no fuck he’s crying why is he crying god damn it what did I do how do I fix this?_

Clint’s thoughts were a swirling mix of confusion, guilt and a fierce want to protect, none of which were going to help the situation.  He could only stand there and try to think of something to say or do that wouldn’t make things ten times worse.  His first instinct was to go over there and pull that trembling body against his own, wrap his arms around him until whatever was wrong either stopped or showed itself so Clint could end it.

He even took a step towards the bed, but Loki wouldn’t even look at him, and what he thought was a good idea suddenly became the scariest thing he’d ever thought of doing.  Those tears weren’t there just for looks, he’d done something to put them there and he needed to know what it was.

Loki’s quiet apology shocked him at first.  He thought he wasn’t welcome?  Where the hell was he gonna go?  He was exactly where he belonged, if Clint had any say in the matter he would never leave.

“I want you to stay,” Clint said, and was gratified when his words seemed to pin Loki in place.

Stepping forward, Clint closed the distance between them, watching Loki carefully as he seemed to pull further and further into himself the closer he came.

“I wanted you to stay last night, and you did, even though I probably could have thrown up all over you in my sleep,” Clint went on.  “I’m surprised I didn’t actually.  You stayed then, why you want to leave now?”

The god turned his tortured gaze up to meet Clint’s, the wet glimmer of tears threatening to spill over once more, and said nothing.

“You think I changed my mind,” Clint said, answering his own question.  When Loki turned away, it only confirmed it.  “See, that’s impossible, because it’s not up to my mind.  If it were, there are  _so_  many things I’d change.  The tendency to make an ass of myself being one of the first.”

“I think we are both guilty of that,” Loki said, hiding his face with the palm of his hand.

“Right?” Clint agreed.  “You know, last night is kinda fuzzy for me right now, but I know what happened, and I know what I said.  And I’m sorry it had to come out like that, but I’m not sorry I said it.” 

He sat on the edge of the bed, close enough their legs brushed against the other.  He still wanted to wrap his arms around the broken god, that inner protective streak was nearly a tangible thing between them, but he knew Loki was extremely fragile when he got like this and the last thing he wanted to do was cause the cracks to widen.

Loki watched the archer’s face carefully as he spoke, searching for any hint of a half-truth, or an attempt to placate.  Finding none, he allowed himself to quell the panic he was feeling and actually consider Clint’s words.  He claimed to still want him.  He claimed he was not sorry for admitting such a thing.  And there was a ring of truth in all that he said. 

The god was alternating between elation and terror.  His joy grew from the fact he was wanted; that his feelings for Clint were reciprocated.  The terror revolved around now having something to lose; something precious that he would have to be careful not to ruin.

Clint sank down next to him on the bed, his sniper’s gaze focused intently on Loki’s own as he waited for a response.  Just the press of the archer’s leg against his was enough to send an electric jolt throughout Loki’s body, and the god briefly marveled at the connection he felt to the mortal.

“I…am not sorry you said it, either, Clint,” Loki said softly, holding his gaze as he carefully chose his words.  ”Not in the least.  The only thing I regret is that I doubted you at all.  But I have been lied to about so very many things, that I tend to question anything offered to me as truth.”  Loki uttered a tired laugh, steeped in misery.  ”Strange that  _I_  would be known as the God of Lies, is it not?”

 _Okay, you know what? Fuck this,_  Clint thought, and finally did what his mind had been screaming at him to do since he first saw Loki’s tears.  He reached out and slid one hand around the back of Loki’s neck, the other around his shoulders, and pulled him into a tight embrace.  He tucked Loki’s head beneath his chin, unmindful of their (slight!) difference in height.

“There you go with the titles, again,” he rumbled, pressing his lips briefly to the top of Loki’s head.

The god had gone utterly still at the sudden show of affection; Clint could feel his tense muscles trembling, the frantic shuddering of his breath fanning over the skin of his throat, but he refused to release him.  He had to make sure Loki knew he wasn’t going anywhere.  He wasn’t one of those people who lied to him, who saw only what could be gained from him.  He certainly didn’t want to be one of the people who hurt him without meaning to, with thoughtless words or actions. 

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Loki’s body relaxed against him, and his arms unwound from the crushing hold he kept on himself to slide around Clint’s back, clutching at him desperately. 

“I’m not one of them,” Clint assured him, sliding his hand into inky black hair to scratch his nails lightly against Loki’s scalp.  He felt a shiver run through the body pressed so tightly to his own.  “I wouldn’t lie about something like this.  Do you believe that?”

“I do,” Loki said, pressing his face against the side of Clint’s neck.  “I do now.”

The fingers in his hair tightened their grip as Clint pulled his face up to look down into his eyes.  “Good, because I don’t want to have to keep repeating myself.”

He was close, he was  _right there_ , looking up at him like he’d just come back from hanging the moon in the sky, and Clint wasn’t about to wait any longer.

He felt the jolt all the way down to his toes as their lips met, almost like an electric shock but so much more visceral, and certainly more welcome.  It was just a simple press of lips, a single point of contact, but for Clint it was like taking the first breath of fresh air after a lifetime of breathing in the stink of the sewers; he’d never known anything different, but now that he’d had a taste, he knew he could never go back.

And finally; this.  

Loki had dreamed of this moment,  _yearned_  for this moment, yet never allowed himself to hope it would actually come to pass.  When Clint’s arms had wrapped around him; when he had pressed his lips to Loki’s crown, still he hadn’t allowed himself to hope.  Despite all assurances to the contrary, some small part of the god stubbornly held a shred of doubt that the archer truly wanted him.

Held within the circle of Clint’s embrace, Loki had pressed his face to Clint’s neck, feeling the pulse beneath the skin, and breathing in the unique scent of him.  Briefly closing his eyes, Loki had huffed out a deep breath and told himself that this was enough.  That if nothing else ever came to pass, that this memory would be enough to sustain him for the rest of his days.

But now; this.  Clint’s mouth upon his own and his hand deep in Loki’s hair, cradling the back of his head as he tasted the god.  A shudder wrung through Loki, and he slanted his mouth, pressing all the tighter against the archer.  

The kiss deepened slowly, and Loki hesitantly parted his lips.  He drew Clint in further and at the first wet slide of their tongues, the god uttered a needy little whimper that nearly broke Clint completely.

It was the moan that did it, that little whimper.  It was just a gust of breath with a broken bit of his voice mixed with it, but it shot straight through the fog in Clint’s brain, down his spine and settled quite comfortably in his gut.  If there was any question left in his mind about whether Loki actually wanted him, that one tiny sound had completely erased it.

He wasn’t planning on taking things very far, but nothing about this had been planned from the beginning, and so he didn’t see any need to change that now.  The kiss had started out innocent, but was quickly turning into something feral and untamed.  If it was something Loki didn’t want, he wasn’t showing it.  If anything, he seemed to revel in the crushing of their lips and the nipping of teeth, and at some point the fingers twined in Loki’s hair had become a clenching fist, angling that mouth exactly where Clint wanted it to go.

Shit, okay, this was actually a thing that was happening, and it seemed to be exactly what they both needed. 

Clint tried to put all of his unvoiced need into his kiss, stopping just short of brutality, but he needed Loki to know what was always waiting just below the surface.  He’d never wanted anyone this much, and the depth of his need shocked even Clint.  There was this thing inside him, now; a beast that roused for one person only. 

It was easy to forget how new they both were to each other when they were locked together like this.  Clint tugged at Loki’s hair, pulling him off his mouth to dip under his chin and nip at his throat.  Loki’s hands flew to his hair, clutching tightly as his teeth closed over the sensitive skin of his pulse.

Clint’s brain had long since surrendered control to his instincts, and without any thought at all, his hand slid down Loki’s back to his hip, gripping him tightly as he pulled the god close, their lower bodies crashing together.  Loki’s gasp was eclipsed by the groan Clint loosed against his throat.

He pulled until Loki was practically straddling his lap, and that beast inside him purred contentedly.

Loki’s heart hammered as he gave in to the riot of sensations assailing him.  His muscles felt as taut as the archer’s bowstring, and every nerve ending was like a small ember, burning beneath his skin.  As Clint’s hand stroked down Loki’s back, a wave of trembling followed it its wake, and the god tilted his head, offering his throat to his Hawk.

Clint’s teeth nipped, tongue licked, and then his fingers bit into Loki’s hip, dragging them together.  The heated gasp Loki voiced was nearly drowned out by the strangled, needy groan Clint authored at that first contact.  

Loki’s hands tugged at Clint’s short brown hair, moving his mouth to that delicious spot just under his ear.  As the archer eagerly sucked a bruise into his flesh, Loki slid fully into Clint’s lap, knees tucked tight to the outside of the smaller man’s hips.

That groan came again at having Loki astride him, pressing down against his thighs as their hands and mouths explored the new territory at their disposal.  Clint’s grasp slid from Loki’s hips to underneath his shirt, teasing the god’s sides and tearing a whimper from his throat.  

Loki’s gaze slid down to lock with Clint’s, the heat contained within almost a wild, living thing.  And as the god’s wide poison green eyes watched him carefully, Loki moved forward in Clint’s lap, grinding down against the archer’s painfully apparent need.

Clint stared back, eyes hooded as he felt the pressure against his straining arousal.  His hands gripped the smooth skin of Loki’s flanks, pulling his chest flush to his own as he lifted his hips to meet him.  A tiny gasp fell from between slack lips at the muted contact, and Clint’s eyes fell to that ever-so-slightly-parted mouth.  His arms tightened around Loki’s back, holding him in place as he thrust up against him, darting forward to lick across those idle lips.

“Do you feel this?” Clint panted, punctuating his words with a strong tilt of his hips.  “This is because of you, Loki.  Don’t ever think I don’t want you.”

Then his mouth slid over the god’s, and he was done talking, instead focusing on the heat of the mouth on his, the heavy weight of the body pressing into his own, and the hands clutching desperately at his hair.

Loki was moaning into his mouth, his hips rocking steadily against Clint’s.  He was no longer a thinking creature, made up entirely of want and instinct.  Clint was no better off, his brain shrouded in a fog of need. 

It was when Loki’s hands left their nest in his hair and trailed down his chest, sliding between them to grip his hardness that any thought could form.  At first, it didn’t, he merely bucked his hips up into the touch, moaning sharply against the mouth assaulting his own.  But when Loki’s fingers began to unfasten his jeans, preparing to slide inside, something within Clint’s conscience took notice.

He pulled away from the searing mouth and brought his hand down to take Loki’s wrist before he could reach inside.

Loki froze, his eyes wide and wounded, already beginning to clear of the haze of lust to be replaced by the hurt of rejection.

“What-?” he began, but Clint’s voice stopped him.

“Just… hang on a sec,” he said, leaning his forehead against Loki’s collarbone.  “Going a little too fast, maybe…”

Loki’s free hand slid into Clint’s hair, and he pressed his mouth to the short brown strands before murmuring, “Clint, please.  Neither of us are strangers to this.  Any virtue I once had was taken from me long ago.  I will think no less of you, whatever you chose, but please do not stop for my sake.  It has been… so long since I felt a lover’s touch.  Please, don’t make me wait any longer.”

God damn it…

Clint pulled back and lifted his eyes to search that deep green gaze.  There was nothing but want reflecting back at him, mirroring his own. 

Okay, then.  If Loki wanted him… he was going to damn well  _have_  him.

When Clint took Loki’s wrist and stilled his questing fingers, the god felt a moment of fear.  Here was the rejection he was dreading; the point where Clint would rebuff him.  But no, the archer simply did not wish to plunge too quickly into something so intimate.  And at that, the god felt a strange lightness in his chest.  The idea of a lover that did not simply wish to take all he could get was quite foreign to Loki, but he could not say he utterly disapproved. 

Granted, he was tired of waiting.  Tired of pretending that he didn’t burn for Clint; of shrouding his want for the man beneath him.  And as Loki quietly pleaded his case, asking plainly that he not be made to wait any longer, he pressed his hips firmly against Clint’s lower stomach, proving exactly how eager he was in return.

Clint’s searching gaze captured his own, and Loki’s hands tightened in the archer’s hair.  The god dipped his head and licked across Clint’s mouth, murmuring one final word to seal both their fates.

_“…please?”_

The sound Clint voiced at that quiet plea was too deep and guttural to be a groan, the sound rumbling in his chest to be felt more than heard.  His hands gripped Loki’s hips and he brought their groins together firmly as he once again claimed that pleading mouth.  Loki’s whimpering moan was swallowed down along with whatever breath he had in his lungs, and now that his hands were free once again, they set to work on finishing what they’d started.

It was Clint’s turn to moan when those hands deftly worked his pants open and dove inside, the muscles of his stomach trembling at the feel of skin-on-skin.  He hadn’t expected how very warm Loki’s hands would be as they slid against his skin, nearly as hot as the mouth he was plundering, and he arched into the touch as those fingers finally found what they’d sought. 

At the feeling of long, slender fingers wrapping around his hardened flesh, Clint broke away from the kiss to loose a shout toward the ceiling, his eyes shut tightly against the sudden jolt of pleasure as those fingers squeezed him firmly.

“Well, is this all for me, then?” Loki asked, giving a long, slow tug.

Clint let his head fall forward and leveled his heated gaze on the smirking god.  He bared his teeth in a snarling grin and bucked his hips into the tunnel of his fingers.

His voice was low and rumbling in answer.  “All yours.”

A wicked grin rose slowly on Loki’s face as he stroked and pulled, feeling the throb of Clint’s pulse in the palm of his hand; watching as the archer’s gaze darkened in lust.

“All mine,” he purred smugly.  ”Mine to touch.  Mine to taste.  Just… _mine_.”

Clint nodded, his words temporarily stolen by the twisting slide of Loki’s hands on his heated flesh.  He marveled at the change in the god sitting astride him.  All doubt seemed to have been eradicated, along with any hesitance, replaced instead by this smirking, mischievous man that held his gaze so confidently.  

Loki’s teeth pressed into his lower lip, and he narrowed his eyes just the slightest bit as he teased his fingers around Clint’s girth.  The corner of his mouth lifted as the archer let out a shuddering moan, his hips canting up, pressing himself more firmly into Loki’s grasp.  The god tightened his grip, yet continued his slow, teasing pace, earning him a tortured look from the man beneath him.

“So long I’ve waited for this,” Loki breathed.  ”Waited for  _you_.  And now that you are here, I cannot decide where to begin.   _So_  many things I wish to do to you, Clint.”  

Leaning in, Loki kissed him roughly, letting him feel the full measure of the god’s need.  Scraping his teeth across the archer’s lower lip, he murmured, “Remove your shirt, please.  Perhaps this time I’ll manage to gaze upon your frame without exhibiting that telltale blush.”

Clint smirked and huffed an amused breath as he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side before leaning back on his palms to give Loki an unobstructed view of his torso.  He felt he could get away with being smug, given the fact that he had a lap-full of aroused Norse God with his hand down the front of his pants. 

To his credit, Loki didn’t actually blush, but neither was he unaffected by the sight of his Hawk’s body.  His hand had stilled on Clint’s arousal and there was a shudder to his breathing that hadn’t been there before.

He watched Loki’s eyes as they raked over his skin, wondering what it was about him that had the god so enamored.  He was covered in scars and bruises, it couldn’t have been too pretty to look at, but Loki was staring at him as if his battered body was a masterpiece. 

Clint had never been self-conscious about his scars, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“I can’t help but notice you’re still dressed,” he said, bucking his hips to get some much-needed friction against his cock. 

The motion caused Loki to move forward, bringing his hips flush against Clint’s and trapping his hand inside his jeans.  Loki gasped at the sudden pleasure of contact against his neglected arousal and pushed forward even harder, grinding down against the back of his own hand inside Clint’s jeans.

“Indeed, I am,” he agreed.

Clint plucked at the hem of Loki’s shirt, tugging it pointedly upwards.  “Off,” he demanded.

A mischievous glint shone in bright green eyes at the imperious order.  “I’m afraid in order to do that, I will no longer be able to do  _this_ ,” he said, and gave Clint’s cock a long, slow stroke.

Clint groaned and lifted his hips as far as Loki’s weight would allow, then dropped his head to level a pointed glare at the teasing god.

“ _Off._ ”

Loki withdrew his hand from the front of Clint’s jeans and rocked back slightly.  That wicked smile surfaced again as he began to unbutton his shirt, motions slow and seductive.  Loki slipped his arms free before running his hands down the pale skin of his chest, dipping his fingertips beneath the waistband of his pants and thumbing apart the clasp holding them closed.

Clint’s eyes tracked Loki’s every move, and he restrained himself from hurrying the process along by rending every scrap of fabric from the god’s lissome body.  When he finally peeled the shirt away, exposing the finely muscled frame beneath, Clint felt an ache rise in his jaw.  He wanted to mark that pale expanse of flesh.  To take that alabaster skin beneath his teeth and bite down until Loki squealed in pleasure.

Loki caught the look in Clint’s eye as he drank in the sight of the half clothed god kneeling astride his thighs.  He held the archer’s gaze as he worked his zipper open and slid one hand beneath the material to grip himself; uttering a quiet whimper as he stroked.

Clint’s eyes had gone wide, and rational thought had taken a small holiday as soon as Loki’s slender fingers had disappeared down the front of his own pants.  He was focused on the motion of Loki’s wrist; the way the muscles in his forearm clenched as he touched himself, and the throb between Clint’s thighs intensified tenfold.

Loki’s free hand rose and pressed against the center of Clint’s chest, gently pushing him to the bed before leaning down over him.  Dipping his head, the god licked a heated line from Clint’s navel to his throat, tearing a moan from the man beneath him.

When Clint said he wanted Loki’s clothes to come off, he wasn’t expecting a strip-tease.  Not that he was complaining.  All that pale skin slowly uncovered by teasing hands just made the beast inside him rear up and take notice.  He wanted to mark that pristine flesh, make sure anyone who saw it would know it was claimed territory.

Not that he was going to let anyone else see it. 

He let himself be guided down to the bed, his eyes fixed on the flexing muscles of Loki’s arm as he took himself in hand.  The sudden urge to wrench that hand from the confines of his pants and replace it with his own was growing strong, but he ignored it in favor of the hot, wet tongue licking its way up his chest.  He arched into the touch with a moan, his hands coming up to grip long black hair and hold that mouth against his throat.

A low, dark chuckle sounded in his ear before Clint felt the sharp press of teeth at the edge of his jaw followed by the wet swipe of a tongue.  He pushed his hips up, straining for any kind of contact to his neglected cock.  His groin bumped against Loki’s, and they both moaned at the brief contact.

Loki pulled back from his assault on Clint’s neck to look down into the needy eyes of his sniper.  The fingers wrapped around his cock tightened further, his eyelids fluttering to stay open, to stare into that heated gaze a few moments more.

As good as his own hand might feel, Loki would much rather it was Clint’s fist wrapped around his needy flesh.  He pulled his hand free, pausing just long enough to tug his pants down past his hips, and let out a quiet groan of relief as he sprang free of the constricting material.

Those same fingers wrapped around Clint’s wrist and pulled him closer to where he desperately needed his touch.

“ _Please… touch me,_ ” he whispered.

Clint’s gaze dropped as Loki’s thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants, tugging the material down just far enough to free himself.  He bit back a moan at the sight of the god’s arousal; long and thick and hard just for him.  And again that ache flared in Clint’s jaw.  This time it wasn’t the urge to bite, but to stretch wide, to wrap his lips around Loki’s cock and _suck_ , to take him deep and make him beg for more.

Loki’s fingers slid around Clint’s wrist and drew him toward his aching flesh, whispering, “ _Please…touch me._ ”  And Clint murmured in return, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Releasing Clint’s wrist, Loki drew himself upright and watched intently as the back of Clint’s fingers lightly stroked up the underside of his cock.  He shuddered at that first hesitant contact, and then gasped as he was taken firmly in the archer’s strong fist.

Loki’s hips stuttered forward, pressing himself more completely into Clint’s grasp, his eyes hooded with pleasure and locked on those fingers as they stroked and pulled.  His breathing grew ragged, and Loki’s mind burned with the knowledge that this was Clint touching him; his Hawk’s hands upon his flesh, teasing him to previously unknown heights.

With a spiraling whine, Loki tossed his head back and rocked his hips, fucking himself into the tight tunnel of Clint’s fingers.

The sight of Loki writhing in his lap was doing things to Clint’s mind, goading him into some kind of action, though it wouldn’t tell him exactly what to do.  He told his mind to shut the fuck up and went with his instincts; they seemed to be doing a good job so far. 

He firmed his grip on the flesh in his hand and gave it a long, dragging stroke, intense, burning gaze locked on Loki’s face.  His hips bucked up of their own accord as Loki’s mouth dropped open with a ragged moan, his eyes staring blindly at the ceiling above. 

A shudder wracked the body above him, and Clint’s eyes followed the motion of trembling muscles, all the way down to where his hand was busily working.  As he watched, a bead of moisture gathered at the tip of Loki’s arousal, and without even thinking, he swiped his thumb over it. 

Loki’s body twisted atop his, grinding down on his still-hidden need, and that was more than Clint could take.  He pushed himself upright with his free arm, licking a hot line up Loki’s chest as he went.  He nipped hard at the meeting of neck and shoulder, giving a squeezing twist to the head of Loki’s cock as he did so.

Then his hand left the hard flesh, causing Loki to whine in protest.  Clint just smirked up at him before gripping his hips tightly and lifting him fully into the air.  He spun to the side, flipping Loki onto his back, and climbed between his splayed legs.

He took in the sight of the disheveled god’s wide-eyed look of shock as he hovered above him on his palms and grinned playfully down at him.

“You look good like this, Princess,” he said, letting his eyes trail over the heaving chest and twitching abdomen, and lower, to the hard length of his straining cock.

After a few moments of shocked silence, Loki allowed a grin of his own to spread across his face.  “Insolent brat.”

“Yeah, and you love it,” Clint growled as Loki’s hand slid up and around the archer’s nape.  

The god tugged him down, rising to meet him halfway in a deep, needy kiss that left them both panting.  Loki’s hips bumped up, pressing against the man above him, and he murmured into Clint’s mouth, “Show me, Clint.  I wish to see  _exactly_  what I’ve done to you.”  With that, Loki nipped sharply at his Hawk’s lower lip and whispered, “ _I want you bare before me.  Please?_ ”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Clint breathed, pressing one more quick kiss to Loki’s greedy mouth before he pulled back and stood to his feet.  ”Oh, and on one condition,” he added, that playful grin resurfacing.

Loki rose to his elbows, giving Clint a curious look.  ”And what might that condition be,” he asked.

“Those pants of yours?  They need to be  _off_.  Now.”

Huffing out a small laugh, the god lifted one foot and braced it against Clint’s flat stomach.  ”Then take them  _off_  me,” he purred.

“Gladly,” the archer growled, and peeled the clothing down from around Loki’s legs in a quick, no nonsense manner.

“And now you,” Loki prodded, eyes drifting down to Clint’s blatant arousal, still hidden behind far too much material.

That familiar smirk pulled at the corner of Clint’s mouth, and he kept his eyes trained on Loki’s face as he pushed down his jeans and stepped from the puddle of material around his feet.  

The god’s expression turned predatory once his Hawk was fully displayed for him, and the growling moan he voiced went straight to Clint’s cock, causing a shudder to run through the archer’s body.

“ _Yes,_ ” Loki whispered, his voice heavy with need.

Clint moved back between Loki’s spread thighs and pressed his hips down, grinding his heavy length against Loki’s own.  The heat and friction between them was remarkable, and Clint’s mouth crashed down on Loki’s, swallowing the piercing cry the god loosed.

Clint was definitely feeling smug as he pressed his weight against the body below him.  Loki definitely liked what he saw when he finally bared himself, that much was obvious just from the sounds he made. 

Not to say Loki himself wasn’t well-put together; Clint had bedded his fair share, and he wasn’t picky about what they had between their legs, but damn… He didn’t think he could ever get hard from looking at anyone else after this.

The sound of Loki’s laughter caught him off-guard.

“I’m flattered, my Hawk,” he said through the most unaffected grin Clint had yet seen from him.

“Shit, did I say that out loud?” Clint asked, and then snorted in amusement himself when he got a nod in answer.  “You broke my brain.”

“No more than you have done to me, Clint,” Loki said, his voice lowering to a rumbling purr in his ear.  He lifted his hips from the bed, grinding his arousal into Clint’s own.  “This is proof enough, but if you require more, I will gladly show you.”

Clint panted down at the mischievous smirk Loki sported.  “Might have to.  Just to be sure,” he said, a smirk of his own crossing his face.

It was then that Loki showed a measure of his true strength.  Before Clint quite knew what had happened, he had been manhandled into a new position; pulled underneath the god, his back pressed to the mattress, with Loki now grinning down at him from above.  

“Well, damn,” Clint huffed, feeling a strange thrill at Loki’s ability to toss him around as though he weighed nothing.  That was definitely something he wasn’t used to…but he also wasn’t about to complain.  

Loki dipped his head and ran his tongue along the shell of Clint’s ear, murmuring, “And how shall I best prove my lust for you?  Prove beyond the slightest doubt how I  _burn_  for you?”

“Dunno,” Clint groaned as Loki’s teeth latched on to that sensitive hollow beneath his ear, nipping and sucking a bruise into the delicate flesh.  ”I’m sure you’ll come up with something, though.”

A breathy chuckle, and the god said, “Oh yes.  I believe I already have.” And with that, Loki began to slowly work his way down Clint’s chest.  He scraped his teeth over the archer’s collarbone, licked across the top of his pectoral, and then closed his mouth over Clint’s right nipple, suckling harshly.  The strangled gasp his Hawk uttered caused Loki to hum appreciatively.  And when he pressed his teeth into the peaked bud of flesh, that gasp swelled into a groan.

Clint’s hands fisted in Loki’s hair, holding him tight as the god employed lips, teeth and tongue to turn him into a quaking mess.  The sensations were magnified tenfold by the fact that this was  _Loki,_ and Clint’s brain frantically chanted the name, his mouth soundlessly mirroring his thoughts.

Another moment and Loki was on the move again.  His tongue dipped into the divide between Clint’s abs, laving the firm flesh and delivering small nips as the mood took him.  The archer was now shaking slightly beneath him, fingers tightening in Loki’s ebony tresses in small increments.  

Loki grinned against Clint’s belly, the noises that his Hawk was making told the god all he needed to know of lust and longing.  And while Clint’s hips were already arching from the bed, his hands did not force Loki to where he most wanted him; simply held tight and allowed the dark haired man to move at his own leisurely pace.  

Finally, after a quick lick across Clint’s navel, Loki slid to the side and bit down on his archer’s hipbone.  The keening cry sent a shiver down Loki’s spine, and he raised his head to catch Clint’s gaze.  

“Watch, my Hawk,” he murmured.  ”I want your eyes on me while I worship at your altar.”

“F-fuck…Loki,” came the gasping reply.  ”Yes.  Please, god,  _yes_.”

Holding the archer’s burning stare, Loki slowly ran his tongue up Clint’s aching cock, from the base to the tip, and with no further prelude, swallowed the archer whole.

It was with every bit of his self-control that Clint managed to keep his eyes open as he watched Loki take him down his throat.  His hips stuttered frantically, his hands turned to clenching fists in Loki’s hair and he was sure it had to hurt, but the god showed no signs of discomfort.  Clint’s mouth fell open in a wordless shout, the muscles of his torso straining to keep him upright so he could watch his cock disappear inside that hot, wet mouth.

No one Clint had been with before had been able to take all of him.  And that wasn’t arrogance, that was just a statement of fact.  The feeling of Loki’s throat tightening around the head of his cock was so new he wasn’t sure how to respond to it at first, and so he could only watch and pant and gasp and moan as he felt himself sliding even deeper.

His mouth was babbling, nonsense words interspersed with moans of Loki’s name and the occasional curse, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself as the tight heat began to move over him.  His hips followed, trying to match the rhythm of Loki’s movements, but the hands at his hips stilled him.

It seemed Loki wanted to do this himself. 

The hum that vibrated from Loki’s throat and into his cock was completely uncalled for, and Clint finally gave up and let his upper body fall back against the bed, his hands moving from Loki’s hair to fist the sheets beside his hips.  He arched his back and loosed a shout to the headboard as Loki slowly dragged his mouth up the length of his cock, sucking hard before swallowing him back down.  Then he did it again.  And again.  And Clint was lost, his body shuddering on the edge of release.

Then, with one last hard suck, Loki pulled off his length and let him fall from his mouth.  Clint fell back to the mattress a panting, twitching mess, and lifted his head to stare down into wicked, glinting eyes.

Loki crawled up the length of Clint’s body, dropping his head to nip and lick at various points along the way, until he could peer down at the wreck of his Hawk.

“Proof enough?” he asked, smirking into dazed eyes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” was all Clint could say, pulling that mouth down to his own, tasting himself on Loki’s tongue.  “You should do more of that.  A lot more.  All the time.”

Loki chuckled and licked across Clint’s lower lip as he lowered his hips, pressing his blatant arousal against his upper thigh.  He let out a low, growling moan at the contact, and then again when Clint lifted his leg to press against him more firmly.

“I would very much like to show you all of the talents my mouth holds,” Loki murmured.  “But first I think I would like to know of yours, my Hawk.”

“Oh,” Clint said, his eyes clearing enough for that spark of mischief to shine through.  “All you gotta do is ask.”

So saying, he lifted himself from the bed to press a greedy kiss to Loki’s mouth, turning him until he was on his back once again.  Clint crawled atop him, his mouth still sealed to Loki’s, and trailed his hands down the smooth skin of his chest, past the trembling muscles of his stomach, and took the god firmly in hand.

Then it was Clint’s turn to work his way down the long line of Loki’s body, marking his path with bites and sucking bruises, and he finally got his wish of seeing all of that smooth, white skin marked with his claim.  Once again, that beast within gave a pleased growl.

And there it was, he was hovering over the god’s impressive length, and he felt like he should be intimidated, but all he could think of was how not to choke on it.  Because he was determined to give just as good as he got.

The first tentative lick was met with a full-body jolt, and Clint had to hold Loki’s hips to the bed to keep from getting bucked off.

“Easy there, Princess, you’ll put someone’s eye out,” he chided gently. 

Loki’s only response was a panting whine and an apologetic hand run through his hair.  His chest heaved with his labored breathing, and he gazed down at Clint’s head between his legs with such a desperate, pleading look that made him think he had seriously underestimated the effect he had on the dark god.

Well, he was going to do his level best to make sure he didn’t disappoint.

Holding Loki’s gaze with his own, Clint took the head of his cock between his lips and slowly sucked him down.

Loki voiced a feral hiss at the feel of Clint’s mouth wrapping around his girth.  And as the archer slowly swallowed him deeper, the god panted brokenly, a rumbling growl rising in his throat.  

Clint’s eyes burned into Loki’s as he pressed further, opening his throat and attempting to take the entirety of the thick flesh before him.  He’d been with men before; but never anyone that had all the Loki was offering, and Clint found himself surprisingly eager to please the god in each and every way he could.  As the head of Loki’s cock touched the back of Clint’s throat, he felt himself start to clench in protest, so he eased back a bit, laving the underneath with his tongue before he tried again.

The rough, stroking pass of Clint’s tongue pressed against his sensitive flesh cause Loki to utter a strangled wail.  His glittering eyes noted the struggle his Hawk was having, and he groaned, “Slowly, Clint.  You needn’t take more than you can handle just for my sake.”

Pulling off Loki’s cock with a strong suck, the archer panted, “But I  _want_  it all.  Every.  Fucking.  Inch.”  And with that he set about proving that to the trembling god beneath him.  

This time, when he thought he’d reached his limit, Clint pushed past the clenching sensation and felt the head slip down the back of his throat.  He gripped Loki’s hips tight as he shuddered, uttering cries in a language Clint had never heard.  The archer smugly thought that he may have just made the god swear, and he pressed deeper, swallowing the final few inches of Loki’s arousal.

Loki clenched his teeth, fighting desperately not to immediately spill down his Hawk’s throat.  Sheathed in Clint’s tight heat, with those lust glazed eyes staring up at him, it was a battle that he was quickly losing.  And then Clint pulled back, and the wet slide of his tongue from the base of Loki’s cock to the very tip was nearly enough to pitch the god into madness.

“Oh,” he huffed, uttering a breathy little moan, hips twitching.  ”Please, my Hawk.  Do that again…”

“Yes, sir,” Clint murmured, and took him deep again in one quick motion.

He was getting the hang of this pretty quickly, and Clint chose to chalk that up to just one of his many talents he didn’t know he had.  Loki was certainly enjoying the result, and Clint would be lying if he said there wasn’t some part of him that reveled in wringing those sounds from his throat.  He’d never been particularly fond of this act, and he’d only ever done it as a returned favor, but he could see himself doing this for Loki any time the god wanted.

He’d keep that little tidbit of information to himself for now, though.  He didn’t want Loki’s ego to grow too far out of proportion, or there wouldn’t be room on this planet for the both of them.

Clint kept his eyes locked on Loki’s, even as he choked himself of the thick flesh buried in his throat.  The god cried out at the sudden clenching around his cock and propped himself up on his palms to stare down at Clint in what could only be described as awe. 

“Please don’t stop,” he breathed, carding his fingers through Clint’s already-tousled hair. 

Clint let a humming moan rumble through his chest, and Loki’s eyes fluttered shut, his head tilted back, and the fingers in his hair tightened into a fist as a shudder quaked through the body beneath him.  He could feel the trembling of the muscles under his hands; he was getting close, close enough that Clint wondered if he should back off before it was too late.

But Loki had asked him not to stop.  Clint was going to take him at his word.

Rather than slow his movements, Clint redoubled his efforts, sucking harshly on the upstroke and swallowing on the way down.  He knew it was past the point of no return when Loki’s hips began to buck up to meet him, and the feral snarl that sounded above told Clint that if he stopped now, he might very well regret it in some way.

Then, there was a very quiet, breathy, “Oh…,” and Loki went still.  Clint had just enough warning to brace himself before he spilled down his throat. 

Clint swallowed everything Loki gave him, shocking even himself, because he’d never particularly cared for  _this_  part, either.  Instead of weathering it like he usually did, Clint found himself eager to milk every drop from the pulsing flesh, and it was only when Loki’s hands lifted him from his oversensitive flesh that Clint relented.

He looked up to find bright, glassy green staring down at him from above.  Without even thinking, he ran his tongue over his lower lip, swiping all traces of the god’s release from his mouth, and stared back.

Loki’s chest heaved as he drew in breath like a drowning man.  The tension in his belly began to unspool in a white-hot ribbon of pleasure as he went still, murmuring a small, “Oh…,” and then he was coming.  Clint swallowed around him, again and again, teasing the god’s senses into overdrive.  And as Loki’s vision went red around the edges, he pulled Clint up to meet his lust laden gaze.  The archer’s tongue snaked out, gathering the smallest bit of moisture from his lower lip, and Loki felt himself come fully undone.

Dragging Clint against him, Loki’s mouth slanted across his Hawk’s, and he moaned at the taste of himself on Clint’s tongue.  He scraped his teeth across the swollen lips, nipped and licked before drawing the smaller man into a harsh, punishing kiss.  

Clint pulled back after a few long moments, panting for breath.  ”Liked that, did you,” he chuckled.

“I-I have no words,” Loki stammered.

“Hmmmm.  Must’ve been good then,” Clint grinned, smugly.  ”Looks like I broke your ‘silver-tounge’ right along with your brain.”

Loki slowly lowered himself back to the bed, pulling Clint down atop him, and rocking his hips up into the archer’s still hard cock.  The god’s lips twisted into a teasing smirk at the moan Clint authored at the renewed friction, and he tugged his Hawk’s mouth back to his throat.  At the press of teeth into his flesh, Loki keened and arched up against Clint.

Turning his head, he whimpered into Clint’s ear, “Please…more.  Take me, Clint.   _Please_?”

Clint went still at the quiet, whimpering plea, the skin between his teeth falling free as his jaw went slack.  Loki whined a protest and pressed up against him, trying to entice him back into assaulting his throat, but Clint’s brain was still trying to recover.

Slowly, he pulled back, lifting his head to look down into Loki’s pleading eyes.  His jaw clenched against the sudden surge of longing his words evoked.  It was something Clint wanted desperately, but he had never expected Loki to want it as badly; certainly not so much as to ask, let alone beg, for it.

It seemed he was taking too long with his answer, because the hesitant doubt was beginning to creep back into Loki’s eyes.  They flicked back and forth between Clint’s, searching for the reason for his sudden hesitation after he’d been so free with himself up to this point.  Clint could see him pulling back into himself, shutting himself off from the perceived rejection, and Clint knew if that happened, everything would be ruined.

He could see Loki was building up to say something, he didn’t know what, but he knew he couldn’t let him say it.  He brought his hand to the nape of Loki’s neck, fingers twining through his hair, and pulled his mouth into a frantic, searing kiss, hoping to convey just how badly he wanted what Loki was begging for.

The god moaned into his mouth, his hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders desperately.  Clint’s assault on his mouth was relentless, barely a breath could be drawn before he stole it back from his lungs, and Clint could feel the doubt crumbling away beneath the force of it.

When he finally pulled away, it was to see Loki staring up at him with dazed eyes and a slight flush, but there was no trace of anything other than want.

“That’s not something you ever had to ask for,” he said, his voice gone to gravel, and pushed his hips down against the pliant body below. 

Then he was moving between Loki’s spread thighs, nudging them farther apart with his knees, and sat up on his haunches to look down at the god spread out across his sheets.  He swallowed back the moan that built in his throat, but the beast within him purred contentedly at the sight of his claim written across that otherwise unblemished skin, and the want that was plain to be seen in the way Loki gazed up at him.  His hands twisted in the sheets beside his head as his hips writhed in circles, unable to keep still.  Even as Clint watched, he could see the god’s flagged arousal begin to harden once again, just from the thought of being taken by his Hawk.

It was more than Clint could take, watching the display below was driving him mad.  He gripped Loki’s thighs and pulled him up into his lap, and there was the contact he wanted.  He pushed against Loki’s growing arousal, earning a hiss and an answering buck of hips.  Then Loki was growling up at him, and it was no longer a plea he could see in those eyes, but a demand.

When Loki spoke, it was in a growl so low and deadly it caused a shiver to run up Clint’s spine. 

“ _Fuck me._ ”

Clint’s jaw sagged just the slightest bit as he stared down at the wanting god, that growl echoing in his head and goading his body into action.  The way Loki swung from pleading to predatory in the blink of an eye was like nothing Clint had ever experienced.  And the idea that he had even the slightest bit to do with triggering those mercurial moods sent a spike of arousal right through him.  

Clint stroked his hands up the insides of Loki’s trembling thighs, then over the flat plane of his belly, across his chest, and finally bringing his fingers to Loki’s mouth.  ”Suck,” he commanded in a guttural tone, and Loki quickly complied.  Taking three of the archer’s digits between his lips, the god licked and laved, swirling his tongue over and around Clint’s knuckles.  The not so distant memory of having his cock buried in that mouth surfaced in Clint’s mind, and he ground his hips forward, tearing a gasp from the god’s throat at the harsh friction.

Pulling his dripping fingers free, Clint pressed against the god’s entrance, rubbing lightly as he watched Loki’s face contort in pleasure, thrilling at the panting moans that he voiced.  Adding a bit more pressure to his motions, Clint pushed his middle finger into Loki’s clenching heat, wrenching a needy cry from the man beneath him.  Pumping slowly, Clint leaned down and nipped at Loki’s throat before working a second finger inside.  

The god’s hips jerked, pressing down against the intrusion; taking the archer deeper, and Clint hummed in approval as Loki began fucking himself on Clint’s fingers.  

Loki shuddered and shook as his Hawk prepared him to take that which he so lusted after.  His body was on fire; the need to move overwhelming, and he circled his hips relentlessly while Clint carefully stretched him open.  Loki could plainly see the want on Clint’s face as he watched his fingers work in and out of the god’s body; seeing how well Loki took him; how eager he actually was to cater to his demands.  

The swell of arousal grew in Loki’s belly, and it was magnified by something else as well.  An eon’s worth of want nearing fulfillment; his oft repeated fantasies of being pinned beneath the archer as he growled out his lust about to become a reality.  And above all that, the knowledge that he was  _wanted_ ; that his Hawk did this not out of pity, or fealty, but because he wanted Loki in return.  That was more maddening than the slow burn of fingers working him open; more enticing than the heavy flesh sliding over his own straining length.

“ _More_ ,” Loki growled.  ”Do not make me wait much longer, Clint.  I want you,  Now.  I  _need_  you.”

“Want you, too.” Clint mumbled against Loki’s throat, nipping him again as he sank a third finger deep into that exquisite heat and teased another cry from the writhing god.  ”So  _fucking_  bad.”

“Then take me,” he gasped, bucking against Clint’s hand.  ”Show me how badly you want me.  Spread me open and fill me, my Hawk.  Fuck me… _now_.”

Clint groaned at the broken pleas spilling from the god’s lips, and he drew back, pulling his fingers free from Loki’s body.  The soft whine that Loki uttered at the loss of friction echoed in Clint’s ears, making him twitch in anticipation, and he quickly took himself in hand and lined himself up with the god’s entrance.

Locking eyes with his Hawk, Loki stilled as the blunt head of Clint’s cock was pressed against him.

“Oh.  Yes,” he breathed, and rolled his hips down to take the archer deep.

Clint was not prepared for the effect Loki’s heat and clenching tightness would have on him, and he found he had to shut his eyes tightly against the sight of the trembling god below him.  His body _sang_ , coming dangerously close to ending things right there and then just from the sounds Loki was making as he took him fully into himself.  Clint hissed a stuttering gasp between his teeth as he felt their hips meet and he was fully sheathed within the willing body.  He panted out a broken moan when he felt the muscles surrounding him pulse in time with his heartbeat, which was thundering in his ears at a frantic pace.

“ _Fuck,”_  he breathed, clutching at Loki’s hips to keep him still.  “N-nuh, _fuck_ , don’t m-move.” 

Even the slightest motion was almost enough to end him, and he was nowhere near ready for that.  He growled low in his throat, fighting back from that precipice with every bit of his will and then some.

Resting his forehead against Loki’s, Clint cracked his eyes open gaze down into those startlingly green eyes.  He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone with eyes that particular shade, and he concentrated on that while his body slowly calmed. 

He felt fingers slide into his hair, cupping the back of his head, and those eyes held his until he was once again in control of himself.  His hands left Loki’s hips, and they immediately began to writhe, now free of his restricting grip, and they both let out a low moan at the friction of Clint so deep within.

When Clint gave his first tentative thrust, he thought Loki would shatter.  His body shuddered and clenched around him so tightly it almost hurt, his mouth dropping open in a soundless cry.  And still his eyes stayed fixed on Clint’s, never wavering for a moment as he began a steady rhythm, driving deeply and grinding into him before pulling almost completely free, then plunging deep again.

Loki’s hands began to wander, sliding from his hair, across his shoulders, down his back and finally settling on his waist, fingers gripping tightly, urging Clint to drive harder, faster, deeper. 

It took Clint a few moments to realize Loki was actually asking, _begging_ , in a broken, sobbing litany.  Looking closer, he saw the wet shine of tears gathering in his eyes, and he felt a moment of panic at the sight.  His body stuttered to a halt, his hands moving to cup Loki’s face as he searched for any sign that he’d hurt him.

“Shit, Loki, what-?” he began, only to be cut off by Loki’s whimpering plea.

“ _Don’t stop,”_  he begged.  “ _Please.  Don’t ever stop_.”

‘ _So this is how bliss feels_ ,’ Loki thought as Clint began to move within him, their eyes locked in a heated gaze.  His mouth sagged open, but no words came, so instead Loki spoke with his body and his touch.  Hips canting up to meet each of the archer’s thrusts; hands roaming across the broad, sleekly muscled expanse of his Hawk’s back, and Loki hooked his ankles around the rear of Clint’s upper thighs, pulling him deeper.

And as the blinding pleasure intensified, still Loki’s eyes remained locked on Clint as he moved above and within him.  His mind was reeling at the thought that this ecstasy was authored by the man between his thighs; this man that had once looked upon him with nothing but hatred. Now those eyes held only want; that lust filled glimmer raising an ache in the god’s throat, and his vision wavered, tears prickling hot.  ’ _Mine_ ,’ was the thought echoing joyously through Loki’s head.  ’ _As much as I am his._ ’

Of course his tears gave Clint pause, and he stilled his movements.  He’d already proven himself to be the most attentive and careful out of any lover Loki had ever taken, so why not this?

His pride laid low by need, Loki was reduced to pleading for his Hawk to continue.  To give him exactly that which he so wanted; which he had waited an eon to experience.  

And with a pleased smile, Clint lowered himself to press against Loki, trapping the god’s arousal between their bellies.  The friction as Clint drove forward caused a spiraling cry to tear loose from Loki’s slack lips, and the archer dipped his head, licking across that needy mouth.

There were no words to describe how relieved Clint was to find he hadn’t hurt Loki in some way, but the sight of his tears still caused a tightness in his throat he couldn’t quite explain.  He knew Loki had wanted him for a long time.  A  _very_ long time, from what he’d said.  It was one thing to know it, but to hear it, see it, _feel_  it… He hadn’t known even the slightest bit, he now realized.

To see the want written across Loki’s normally stoic face, the begging, pleading tilt of his brows and the flush of desire darkening his skin.

To hear those whimpering moans and shuddering breaths.

To feel the tremors wracking his body, the tight, clenching heat surrounding him, and the crushing grip of fingers digging into his flesh as if he were both the anchor and the storm-tossed sea he flung himself into.

Maybe Clint had never wanted anyone nearly as much as he’d wanted Loki, but no one had ever wanted  _him_  as much, either, and that knowledge more than anything else was what drove him deeper, harder, faster into the pliant body beneath him.

Loki’s cries were coming faster now, louder and more desperate, and the hands gripping him so tightly turned to claws, blunt nails digging deep into his skin.  Clint gasped against the panting mouth, spurred on by the tingling pain, driven by the need to hear that voice raised in ecstasy. 

This, he finally realized, was what he had been trying so hard to tell himself he didn’t want, didn’t  _need_ , from Loki or anyone else.  This was no mere rutting of pent-up need, no quick, fleeting release.

Then his mind was wiped clear of anything but blinding pleasure as Loki’s body shuddered, clamping down tight around him, and a loud, keening wail erupted from between clenching jaws.

Clint pulled back just enough to watch Loki’s face as he came undone, a mindless, feral creature in the throes of completion.  Clint nearly forgot his own pleasure, intent on wringing every bit of pleasure, every whine and moan, every drop of come from the shuddering god.

And then he was following over that edge, unable to hold back in the wake of such a wanton display.  He held tightly to Loki’s hips, digging bruises into the pale flesh as he pressed himself as deep as he could go.  Blindly, he sought out Loki’s mouth with his own, muffling his cries even as his breath was stolen from his lungs.

Deeper, harder, faster.  That was exactly what Loki needed, and his Hawk did not disappoint in the least.  As the god writhed and shuddered, clenched and clawed, he could feel the tension in his belly spiraling all the tighter, and he knew that it would not be long before he broke apart under Clint’s attentions.

‘ _Never has it been like this,_ ’ Loki thought as the slide of Clint’s thick flesh pushed him to previously unimaginable heights.  And while his body burned with lust, his heart throbbed at finally laying himself bare to Clint; letting his Hawk know exactly how much he was wanted.  

No.   _Needed_.  

Loki rocked his hips up to meet each thrust, rutting his cock against the archer’s flat stomach, and panting raggedly at the heavy friction both within his body and assailing his length.  Clint twisted his hips, pressing more firmly against him and uttering soft, shuddering groans that fanned the flames of Loki’s arousal higher until he felt he might break apart under the very next motion.  

And then with one last deep thrust, the god was coming, strangled wails bleeding through clenched teeth; body clenched tighter still.  He pitched and shook beneath his Hawk, nails digging half-moons into the archer’s skin as the man above him stared down rapturously.  

That expression broke through the haze of Loki’s completion and proved to him once and for all the depths of Clint’s emotions.  This was not just a physical attraction; a need for contact.  If it were, the archer would not show such an eagerness to please and would instead want nothing beyond his own pleasure.  This was obviously not the case, as evidenced by the way his Hawk was plying Loki’s body, teasing each measure of ecstasy from him that he could.

And as this knowledge burned through him, Clint drove as deep as he could go, arching down to seal his mouth over Loki’s own, and washing the god’s insides with his own burning release.

Swallowing Clint’s frantic cries, Loki undulated beneath him, milking the archer for all he had to give as his body tensed and shook.  And as those cries turned to gasping pants, Loki’s arms slid around Clint’s back and pulled him close against him, voicing a contented sigh into his Hawk’s ear.

Nothing could have pried Clint from his place atop Loki’s body, there was no threat large enough to make him move from where he finally came to rest, still buried within his warmth with the thumping of his heart beating against his chest.  When he felt Loki’s arms circle around him, he knew this was exactly where he wanted to be. 

He buried his face in the side of Loki’s neck and breathed deeply, and he found he was even more fond of his scent than he was last night, now it was spiked with the scent of sweat and sex.  He couldn’t keep the low, growling moan from leaving his throat, and he felt Loki’s arms tighten around him at the sound, his fingers combing soothingly, possessively, through his hair.

“ _My Hawk,_ ” he whispered into his ear, before laying a kiss against the skin just below.

Clint answered with a long, slow lick across the pale skin of Loki’s throat, his arms tightening around the sated god.  His breathing evened, his heart slowly coming down to beat a normal, steady pulse, and Clint still refused to move.  He knew they couldn’t stay like this all day, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away just yet. 

They might have stayed there all day, good intentions aside, if Clint’s phone hadn’t buzzed, rattling insistently against the nightstand.  He lifted his head and snarled at it, as if he could silence it with nothing but his ire, but it blithely continued its droning buzz. 

Loki’s fingers petted his hair soothingly, and then his arms were falling away from his back, hands pushing at his upper arms in an attempt to lift him off.  He looked down at Loki, who gazed back up at him with an expression torn between longing and amusement, though Clint didn’t think it was very funny to be interrupted at a moment like this.

“It seems you are being summoned,” Loki said as Clint reluctantly lifted himself up on his palms.

“I’m probably in trouble again,” Clint muttered, pulling carefully free of Loki’s body, biting back a hiss as his still-sensitive flesh slipped from the welcoming warmth. 

“Trouble?” Loki questioned, raising up on his elbows to give Clint a curious raised eyebrow.  “What trouble?”

Clint seemed hesitant to answer, but at last, he finally said, “My boss doesn’t much like that we’re… getting along.”

Loki’s brows drew together, and he gave a pensive frown at Clint’s words.  ”I-I had not considered that our friendship may cause you further strife.”  Pushing himself upright, the god wrapped his arms around his knees and continued softly, “Stupid of me, really.  Of  _course_  your Director Fury would take issue with our spending time together.”

Clint scooped up the insistently buzzing phone, glancing at the screen only to see that the call was indeed coming from Fury’s private line.  Stifling a groan, he said to Loki, “Don’t worry yourself about it too much. I can hold my own.”  

Thumbing the talk button, Clint lifted the phone to his ear and said, “What can I do for you, sir?”

“What you can do for me, Barton, is to get your ass in my office immediately,” Fury barked.  ”I’m talking  _now_.  Do not take the time to shower.  Do not stop for a bite to eat.  Just double-time it over here.”

“What’s the situation,” Clint asked, climbing from the bed and padding across the room to his dresser.  

He was stepping into a clean set of boxers when Fury replied, “No situation, really.  But we need to talk.”

Huffing out an exasperated sigh, Clint straightened up and said, “Well, if that’s all it is, just talk.  You’ve got me on the line already.  Do I really need to come down there?”

“Oh, it’s absolutely vital,” Fury said in a silky tone that triggered alarm bells in Clint’s head long before the Director’s big reveal.  ”And I’m sure you don’t want to have to answer my questions in front of your…house guest, now do you?”

Clint felt a wave of anger wash over him, which was magnified when he turned to find Loki watching, concern plain in his face.  ”No, sir,” he answered tersely.  ”I’ll be right there.”  

Ending the call, he tossed the phone onto the bed and set about getting dressed.

“Is everything alright,” Loki asked hesitantly.

“It will be,” Clint answered, crossing back to the bed and leaning in to drop a quick kiss on the side of the god’s throat.  ”I won’t be long.  Don’t…go anywhere, ok?  I want you here when I get back.”

Loki shone a pleased grin the archer’s way and nodded.  ”I’ll be right here.”

“Good,” Clint replied, and headed for the door, internally fuming.  

He hoped he hadn’t just inadvertently lied to Loki.  He hoped he  _would_  be back soon.  But he and Fury were going to have to come to an understanding about this, and Clint was almost positive that Fury was not going to like what he had to say on the matter.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Real life comes calling.

Solo ficlet that follows directly after _Kinda I Want To_.

  
  
    Clint had been called into Fury’s office often enough to know what a dressing-down was going to be like.  This didn’t feel like a dressing-down.  It had all the gravity of a reckoning.   
  
    He was prepared for just about anything; the entire drive to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, he’d been steeling himself for whatever Fury might throw at him.    
  
    What he wasn’t prepared for, however, was the sight of his partner seated before Fury’s desk, her face an unreadable mask.  
  
    “’Tasha?” Clint blurted, his mind swept completely clear of every scenario he’d anticipated.  “The hell?  I thought you were…”  
  
    He trailed off, his eyes drifting from Natasha’s face to Fury’s one-eyed glare, and suddenly his confusion turned to seething rage.  
  
    After Clint had learned of Loki’s return in the most blunt way possible, he’d tried to get answers from the Director about why he’d been kept in the dark.  Every question he’d posed had been side-stepped and twisted back around on itself, and in the end, he’d gotten nothing in the way of an honest answer.  When he failed to learn anything from the source, he decided to ask the one person he knew wouldn’t lie to him.  
  
    At least he’d thought she wouldn’t lie to him.  What he’d thought was an attempt at avoiding him was, in reality, a way for Fury to get all the dirty details of his budding relationship with Loki and keep Clint from picking up on any loose threads at the same time.  He had to admit, it was a brilliant plan.  He never would have guessed his partner would be spying on him.  He’d never had any reason to think she would.  
  
    “I see you’re starting to get the picture, Agent Barton,” Fury said, interrupting his thoughts.  “And I hope you can appreciate the difficult position you’ve put us all in.”  
  
    Clint’s teeth ground together as he bit back all that he would like to say about ‘difficult positions’.  He settled for a narrowing of his eyes before sliding his gaze back to Natasha.  She looked back, unfazed, mask perfectly in place.  Clint told himself he didn’t feel the ice-pick stab of betrayal in his chest, but he’d never been good at lying to himself like that.  
  
    “Might have to explain it, I’m a little slow on the uptake, sir,” Clint bit out through clenched teeth.  
  
    Fury let out a slow breath and dropped his glare to give Clint a long-suffering look of frustration.  “I risked a lot to keep you around, Barton,” he said.  “The Council has been on my ass about you from the moment they knew you were compromised.  The stipulation of even keeping you alive was that you be monitored at all times and at the first sign of erratic behavior, we were to take you down.”  
  
    Well, that was news to Clint, though he couldn’t say he was surprised.  The Council always had to have everything under their collective thumb, after all.  A rogue S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with operational knowledge and high-level clearance wasn’t something you just let walk out the front door without making sure there was a shock-collar around their neck.  
  
    “I’m still breathing, so what’s the catch?” Clint asked.    
  
    Natasha and Fury exchanged glances, and that just made Clint even angrier that they were still trying to keep things from him.    
  
    “The catch is that the Council has no idea Loki is back on the planet,” Fury said as he turned and stalked to the large, wall-length window behind him.  “That was something I was hoping to keep a lid on.  They want him to ‘answer for his crimes,’ and as soon as they find out he’s here, it will be out of my hands.”  
  
    “And you thought not telling me was going to keep that from happening?”  Clint was beyond caring about insubordination by this point, the more he was hearing, the less he liked.  
  
    “It was the only way to prove you were no longer compromised,” Fury said, turning from his blind side to fix Clint with a glare.  “The first sign of erratic behavior, like I said.  No one, not even Dr. Selvig, knows for sure how that cube works.  You could have been a sleeper for all we knew.”  
  
    “Okay, so you keep me on your leash and then yank the choke chain when your plan blows up in your face.”  
  
    Fury’s voice was flat as he said, “No one could have anticipated how spectacularly that plan blew up.”  
  
    “What are we even talking about here?” Clint wanted to know.  “You called me here to tell me how you’ve been fucking with me for the past year?  You could have done that over the phone.  What is this really about?”  
  
    It was clear that his patience was rapidly approaching its end, and Fury took a few moments to think over his next words very carefully.  
  
    “Loki’s asylum is conditional,” he began.  “If, at any time, I believe him to be a threat, I have the authority to revoke it.”  
  
    Clint’s blood ran cold at the meaning behind those words.  He was very aware of Natasha’s eyes on him as he let the full weight of the situation settle in his mind.    
  
    “What… happens to him?” Clint asked, his voice choked.  This was literally the god’s last resort; he had no where else to go, he’d said himself he wasn’t wanted back on his home world.  No other would have him.  And that only left…  
  
    “He goes back where he came from,” was Fury’s answer.  
  
    There was a moment, a fleeting beat of time, where Clint thought he couldn’t possibly have heard those words.  When the realization hit, he flinched as if he’d been struck, his eyes flying wide.  
  
    The thought of Loki being sent back to that place, the place that had taken a thousand years and a thousand deaths to break him, made Clint physically ill like a punch to the gut.    
  
    “You can’t,” he said, his voice quiet despite the railing scream he wanted to loose.  “You can’t send him back there.”  
  
    “If I have to, I will.”  
  
    “He hasn’t _done_ anything!” Clint finally snapped, his control over himself shredding under the threat of Loki being dragged back into that place after clawing his way through it once before.  
  
    “And I’m not going to give him the chance,” Fury said, his voice as calm and even as Clint’s was ragged and panicked.  
  
    Clint was scrambling for anything, any handhold he could find to salvage the situation.  There was no way he could let Fury send Loki back, not after what he’d been through.  Even Clint could never fully grasp what he’d had to endure as his punishment, and sending him back simply because Fury was getting a little uncomfortable was out of the question.  
  
    “So you think he’s a threat?  Why?”    
  
    Clint wanted to know exactly why Fury was choosing now to tell him this.  For weeks, he’d been sending the archer on bullshit missions, and he knew it was Fury’s way of tightening his leash.  He could have told him all of this then; hell, even _months_ ago when Loki first arrived would have been better.  
  
    At least then he wouldn’t have had quite so much to lose.  
  
    “I haven’t decided that he’s a threat… yet,” was Fury’s reply.  “But your… fraternization with the enemy is pretty damn suspicious, Barton.”  
  
    Oh.  Okay.  That was Fury’s play; guilt-trip Clint into breaking things off with Loki so he could sleep better at night.    
  
    Yeah, not happening.  
  
    “This is suddenly my fault?” Clint asked, shifting his eyes from the back of Fury’s head to Natasha, who had yet to say a word since he’d arrived.  “You cut me out of the loop; you shove me in a corner with a smack on the nose; you keep me tied on your leash and only let me out when you think it’s funny.  And now you want me to play nice?”  
  
    Fury was facing him, now, everything about his posture tense, as if waiting for Clint to make some kind of move.  Clint wasn’t all-together sure he wouldn’t.  
  
    “You may have missed it, Barton, but your houseguest?  Killed dozens of people, stole an interstellar power source, instigated a full-on assault on the city of New York, and let’s not forget, turned you into his little pet assassin.”  
  
    “No, sir, I didn’t miss a damn thing,” Clint said evenly.  He knew all of this, it wasn’t like he could _forget_ , no matter how much he wished he could.  “And believe me, if I thought he was still a threat, I’d have shot him myself.  So forgive me if I don’t automatically subscribe to your school of logic that dictates who is and is not a threat.”  
  
    Fury stared back, unruffled, and gave Clint a searching, calculating stare.  He wasn’t about to tell anyone what he was thinking; he liked to play his hand close to his chest, and if someone managed to get a peek, it was only because he’d allowed it.    
  
    Clint was past caring, however.  He wasn’t going to let Fury send Loki back, and if he had to cut ties and disappear with him, then that was what he would do.  It was better than the alternative.  S.H.I.E.L.D. had had a hell of a time stopping Loki the first time, and the only reason they’d been able to was because of the team they’d managed to scramble and the fact that Loki hadn’t _wanted_ to win in the first place.  The two of them alone could give them no end of trouble, but together… Hell, Clint had taken down the Helicarrier single-handedly, and he hadn’t even been trying.    
  
    He didn’t see the need to remind Fury of this; he knew the man was well aware of his abilities and was already several steps ahead of that consideration.    
  
    So it was a stale-mate.  Fury’s careful tactical planning against Clint’s stubborn nature.    
  
    It was then Natasha chose to give voice, breaking the tension in the room.  
  
    “Clint, you have to admit, it looks suspicious,” she said, rising from her chair as silent as a cat.  “You were compromised, and no one knows exactly how.  Do you even know?”  
  
    There was a sick feeling in his gut as he listened to her words, and he knew they made sense on some level, but he didn’t want to think about that.  His time under the thrall of the Tesseract was a subject he wouldn’t even talk about with her, much less anyone else.  There was no way to explain the loss of will, the inability to stop himself from bringing everything he’d made of himself to ruin.  To have something else inside your head finding that one thing you wanted to stay buried and bringing it right back to the surface, holding the ugly, squirming thing in front of your eyes and using it to make you do the unthinkable.  
  
    Clint had found out, in that short span of time when he wasn’t himself, exactly what he was capable of.  To think he could ever go back to that, could ever let himself be laid that low again, made him sick.  
  
    “No,” he finally said.  “I don’t.”  
  
    Fury sighed then.  “And that, Agent Barton, is the problem.”  
  
    “The problem, sir, is that you think you know all the facts,” Clint said.  His patience really had run out by this point.  “I can tell you, you don’t even know the half of it.”  
  
    “Barton-,” Fury said sharply, but Clint wasn’t going to let him finish.  
  
    “No!” he barked.  “You bring me in here _now_ , after weeks of knowing about our _fraternization_ , to threaten me into shoving him out the door because you’re getting a little uncomfortable.  You’re giving me your ultimatum, sir, and I’m giving you _mine_.”  
  
    “Clint, _don’t,_ ” Natasha warned, but one look from him silenced her.  
  
    “You _try_ to take me down,” Clint growled, “and I will end every motherfucker you throw at me.  And then I’m gone, and so is your prisoner, and good luck finding either of us after that.  I don’t suggest you try.”  
  
    He let that offer sit on the table for a few moments while they absorbed the implications, and then he went on.  
  
    “Or, you can forget this conversation ever happened, I keep your leash around my neck and your dangerous prisoner in line.  Everyone’s happy.”  
  
    He saw from the corner of his eye Natasha give a little shake of her head, but he ignored her, waiting for Fury to respond.  
  
    It was a long time coming, as the man’s military mind ran through every possible outcome before making his final decision.  Clint hadn’t been lying to Loki before, he really did admire the man’s abilities.  It also made him a dangerous enemy to have, and Clint hoped he never had to be on the other end of that razor-sharp intuition again.  
  
    “You’re convinced he’s harmless?” Fury said after long moments.  
  
    “I didn’t say he was harmless,” Clint corrected.  “I don’t think he has plans to annihilate the populace, though.  Isn’t that what you’re worried about?”  
  
    “Oh I’m worried about a lof of things when it comes to the two of you,” Fury said as he turned back to the window.  “I’m still not convinced just yet.  I suppose…,” and he turned a meaningful look over his shoulder, “I _should_ gather more intel before I make any rash decisions.”  
  
    Clint felt the tension in his shoulders slowly start to ease at those words.  He could gather all the intel he wanted, he wasn’t going to find what he was looking for.  
  
    “Fair enough, sir,” Clint allowed, shooting a look across at Natasha.  She was giving him such an exasperated look it would almost be funny if he wasn’t still pissed at her for lying to him.  
  
    “Consider this a warning, Agent,” Fury continued, all business once again.  “You’re dancing on razorblades until I’m one-hundred-percent convinced.”  
  
    “Used to it,” was all Clint said.  
  
    “Get the hell out of my office, Barton,” Fury barked.  “And keep your boyfriend in line.  I don’t need the hassle of cleaning up _another_ destroyed city.”  
  
    “Yes, sir,” Clint said and turned to leave, not even sparing his partner a parting glance.  
  
    There was silence for a few moments before Fury spoke.   
  
    “Well, Agent Romanov?”  
  
    Natasha stared at the open doorway Clint had walked through before turning to face the Director.  
  
    “He’s angry.  At me, mostly.  But he meant what he said.  All of it.”  
  
    Fury hummed thoughtfully, staring down at the city below.  “I’m pulling you off surveilance for the time being.  I need you elsewhere.  Besides, he knows now, there’s really no point.  I’ll keep an eye on him.”  
  
  
  
    Clint entered his apartment still angry, and the only thing keeping him from slamming the door was knowing (hoping) Loki was still there and not wanting to answer a thousand questions about why he was angry.  
  
    He tried to keep his tread quiet as he made his way through his empty apartment, down the hallway to the bedroom.  He peeked inside, still unsure if Loki would even still be there, only to see the dark hair of his head peeking out from beneath his blankets.  A small smile touched his face at the thought of Loki falling asleep waiting for him.  
  
    Well, he _had_ worn him out before he left.  
  
    Clint toed his boots off and padded across the room on bare feet to settle at the edge of the bed, looking down at the sleeping god.  Loki had pulled Clint’s pillow against him, his arms wrapped tightly around it, and buried his face into it.  It was a strangely sentimental gesture for someone so openly opposed to the very idea of sentiment, but Clint decided he would let him have this.  It could have gone so much worse…  
  
    A lump rose in Clint’s throat at the thought of Loki being snatched away at a whim.  He didn’t think he could bear the thought of being the reason he was sent back to that place, forced to endure an eternity of the same punishment he’d already suffered.  The possessive nature of the beast inside him snarled, and Clint suddenly had the urge to wake Loki and stake his claim all over again.  
  
    _Jeeze, Barton, let him sleep,_ he told himself.  It was the first time Clint had seen the god at rest since he’d known him.  Even before, during the whole Tesseract business, he’d never seen Loki take even a moment to rest.    
  
    He settled instead for laying beside him and pulling him against his chest, his face buried in dark hair and arms wrapped around him like a shield.  He felt the first stirrings of Loki waking, but let a low rumble in his chest soothe him.  
  
    “Go back to sleep, Princess,” he murmured.    
  
    “Clint?” Loki’s sleepy voice called out.  “What happened?”  
  
    “It’s fine, go back to sleep,” he assured him, pulling him closer.  
  
    Loki let himself relax into Clint’s embrace, a small, secret smile touching his lips.  His Hawk was back where he should be, and he let himself drift back to sleep knowing that he was finally where he belonged.


End file.
